


Over Tea and Cakes

by izazaa (crazyground)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyground/pseuds/izazaa
Summary: Modern!AU, wherein Mag survives. Nureyev and Juno go visiting. (Alternatively: every awful conversation you've ever had at family gatherings!AU.)





	Over Tea and Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> bless [lyeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyeon/). no specific countries mentioned to avoid politics; i don't want to overstep. and as usual, i wrote imagining them like [this](http://izazaa.tumblr.com/post/159903809701/izazaa-guess-who-jkvlr-dragged-into-podcast). but it has little bearing in this fic.

Out on the dirt road, sun searing any bare speck of skin it could reach, Nureyev had pulled him in closer and presses a kiss to his temple. "It can't go _that_ badly," he added, and Juno almost believed him.

Then Nureyev said, "Ah, hold on, I left my phone in the car," and in hindsight, Juno really shouldn't have let him go, because there were footsteps already approaching from within the bungalow. The front door opens and there Mag stands. The half smile on his face melts into surprise.

Juno waves awkwardly across the yard, and fidgets until Mag crosses the distance. He tries not to stare too hard, but Mag doesn't match the portrait of a large, imposing man that Nureyev had painted in his stories. He might once have cut an impressive figure but now he is hunched over his walking stick, and his white shirt hangs off his bony shoulders. His eyes are still yellow and piercing, but they sit within dark folds of aged, leathery skin. He is less intimidating than Juno expected, but not by much. When he's finally near enough, Juno greets him, strangled, "Hello! You must be Mag."

Mag lights up at his old nickname. "And you must be Juno Steel!"

"Oh! Uh, yes sir." Something about him has Juno feeling only a quarter of his age. "Uhh, Nureyev's getting his things from the car, but he should be here soon."

Mag's smile changes then, into a concerted effort, the lines of his face deepening beatifically. They might not look alike, but Juno recognises that smile in Nureyev from when they first met, and Nureyev had been Rex Glass. Juno freezes. Mag continues to smile at him, yellow eyes never leaving him as he unlocks the gate.

"Mag."

Juno jumps. Nureyev had come from his blindside. His face is carefully blank, the lift at the corners of his mouth only perfunctory. Fake smiles all abound. Juno feels his own twisting into a grimace.

"Peter! Look at you!" See, now that's a proper smile for Mag, yellow eyes in half crescents, teeth gleaming up to his cheeks. He cups Nureyev's face, and sweeps large knotted fingers across the peaks of his cheekbones. Doesn't mention it when Nureyev's jaw clicks shut under his touch. "It's been so long. You've grown so much."

"As have you." Nureyev pauses. When he turns to Juno, he looks a bit lost. Before Juno can attempt anything however, Nureyev has put his hand at the small of his back, and turned back to Mag. "This is Juno Steel, my partner. I hope you don't mind he's come with me."

"We've met," replies Mag curtly, and Juno hasn't felt this dismissed since he was a babe. "Come, dear boy, come in, we have catching up to do."

"I guess I'll just let myself in then!" Juno calls after them, irritated despite the testy situation.

 

* * *

 

Nureyev gets through half of, "Well, that wasn't so bad," before Juno grabs a pillow off his childhood bed and flings it at him. He ignores Nureyev's _oof_ as the pillow meets his face, he even ignores the giant faded poster of Brahma on the walls of Nureyev's old room, and what seems to be a bow tie collection sitting atop his dresser. Instead, he collapses dramatically onto the bed.

"So." says Juno, and then he stops. They are only going to be here for two nights, and it's not like Juno hasn't met many, many people who've disliked him on sight, but it seems important that _Mag_ doesn't hate him. But how to bring it up nicely… "So Mag hates me."

"He doesn't –"

"Fine, he doesn't _hate_ me, but he not exactly welcoming me with open arms, is he?" Juno shoots Nureyev a pointed look. "You saw that smile, you know I know what that sort of smile is."

Nureyev winces. He scoots around to face Juno properly, and tilts his head to level with him. "I did find that a bit odd," Nureyev admits, "what with how warmly he greeted me, but perhaps he's just playing the part of an overprotective parent."

"Sounds fake, but okay."

"Juno. We'll only be here for two nights. But if you want to cut the trip short–"

Juno is tempted by the offer for a half second, before he gripes, "Ugh, I'm doing that thing again, aren't I?" He should get Micky to punch him in the face again. "Maybe he's just so enamoured with you that he doesn't notice me? I'm only leaving when you want to leave."

Nureyev lets out a long sigh. "I suppose we'll have to stay then."

Juno "yay"s despondently and flops face first onto Nureyev's childhood bed. But of course it doesn't smell like him. It doesn't smell of him like his terrible circle bed in that bachelor's pad of his, under his laundry detergent and cologne. Nor does it smell like their bed, under his cologne and Juno's laundry detergent and occasionally when they forget to strip the sheets from the night before and it smells almost too much of him, amongst _other things_ , except there is no such thing as too much of him.

Instead, Juno is greeted with the too-heavy stench of some unfamiliar detergent that is neither of theirs, but of the old man downstairs who hates him already, and he can't even sulk face down about it without risking a sneezing fit. Juno flops onto his back and tries glaring at the ceiling instead.

"Are those glow in the dark stars?" asks Juno. They're the typical blocky dollar store ones except young Peter had painted a swirling galaxy with white dotted stars before pasting them on. So he was fanciful even when he was younger. It doesn't really surprise Juno but it does make him smile.

"I was convinced I'd be an astronaut, I thought I'd be jetpacking across space, an agent for galactic peace, going on all sorts of adventures." Nureyev sits on the floor next to his bed, pillow in his lap, and stares up at the stares with him. "That," he says, pointing up to the fattest five point star, "was supposed to be the North Star, so I'd always know where to, mm, return home."

Right, right. Juno rolls onto his side, studies the faint smile Nureyev sends him, then groans again. He shuffles to the edge of the bed so he can stick his face into Nureyev's neck, and sighs when he feels Nureyev's hand clumsily reach backwards to pet his hair.

"So. Nice place." It really is, not a terribly big bungalow, but an hour's drive away from the nearest city, secluded, cozy. "I didn't expect this to be your childhood home, to be honest. I'd always thought you were more the city type."

"Well, you're not terribly wrong." Nureyev hums thoughtfully. "We'd lived here in the 80s for… four? Maybe five years? Just long enough for me to get a foundation in education, away from all the political unrest. It's dull in comparison to the rest of the places we've stayed at. I'm surprised Mag chose here to retire to."

Juno looks again at the poster and the bow ties. "I'm not."

Nureyev watches Juno watch his old bedroom for a moment. "… Juno?"

"Shh, I'm trying to process."

"You know you can ask me whatever it is you want to know."

"And you can tell me whatever it is you think I should know."

Nureyev chuckles. It's a familiar argument, between two men with ghosts in their pasts. One wants them put to rest. The other wants them undisturbed and buried.

He says instead, "You know, Juno, we could leave a day earlier. Drive back to the capital, splurge on a penthouse suite in one of their hotels. Have us a bit of fun before flying home."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" accuses Juno, and then he sighs. "I'm only going if you want to go."

"To tell the absolute truth, Juno, I was perfectly content to live the rest of my life never seeing him again."

"And yet you came anyway."Juno presses his fingers to the tight line of Nureyev's mouth. "I don't know, maybe try and make peace."

Nureyev grimaces. "With him? Well, I suppose it would be the right thing to do, but…"

"What? Phsh, no. Well, you can if you want?" Juno shrugs. "But I meant, make peace with yourself."

Nureyev is quiet for a moment, before he smiles. "Oh Juno, you are so good to me."

"Yea, yea." Juno ducks his head. "Save the compliments until after we survive this."

"Oh, of course we will." Nureyev slides a finger under Juno's chin, and tilts his head back up. "Now, let me be good to you in return."

His smile is saccharine as he angles his head for a kiss, and Juno scowls at it, he's had years to build up an immunity to it – but finds himself leaning in. It tastes as sweet as it looks; Juno swipes his tongue over Nureyev's bottom lip, and pushes closer when Nureyev hums under his touch, delighted.

"If you two are done _canoodling_ ," and Juno jerks back so far, he jams an elbow into the wall behind him, "perhaps you'd like to join me for dinner."

"In a minute," replies Nureyev, perfectly serene, while Juno tries to smother himself in the mattress.

"Best not take too long; the food will get cold." Mag narrows his eyes at Juno, before spinning on his heel, and stalking away.

Juno screams silently into into the mattress. "I change my mind, it's not fine, nothing is fine, have I ever been fine in my life – ever?!"

Nureyev laughs, and pulls him off the bed.

 

* * *

 

Dinner… happens, despite Juno's reluctance. And the conversation… also happens. That's about as good as Juno can make of it. Unfortunately, they're quickly running out of safe topics. How's the food? Really good, two meats, a half dozen side dishes, and thick bread to mop up all the sauce – of course Juno knows what _my people's_ food tastes like, I live with him, and as such, cook for him on the occasion. How's the ride over? Fine, thanks to Nureyev, who may look like a tourist but can haggle like a native. And how has Nureyev been? Quite well, thank you, and you? Quite well – Mag grins, razor sharp – all things considered.

Juno hadn't thought it possible to eat through clenched teeth, but Nureyev does thrive on proving him wrong.

Then Mag says, " _Juno Steel_." A weighty pause. "I've heard so much about you."

"You have?" asks Juno, surprised. To his knowledge, Mag and Nureyev haven't spoken in years, until Mag's health had taken a bad turn and he'd used the last of his old contacts to track Nureyev down.

"I know your name, which is more than I know about anyone else in his life."

"Uhh!!" says Juno, distressed. "There really isn't much to know about me."

Mag continues as though he hadn't heard. "And you! Know his name!" He raises a great, bushy eyebrow. "I hear you're a PI. I had thought it was a fallback from the force, but I suppose you must be worth your mettle."

"Hey, how'd you know – of course." Juno glances at Nureyev, who has a white knuckled grip on his glass, despite that his expression is perfectly serene. "As if being half across the world would stop you."

Mag beams proudly at Juno's keen intellect. "No wonder your clientele is so hefty! How many of the rich and famous have lined your pockets?"

"He knows my name," Nureyev interrupts, with a radiant smile, "because I told him."

"Ah, of course! I should've suspected. You always were fond of taking chances–"

"That he wouldn't run screaming from my past sins?" Nureyev chuckles.

Mag shares in his joke with a chortle of his own. "Still, that was a bit careless, wouldn't you say?"

Juno mumbles, "Worked well enough for me," but it is lost.

"Perhaps he had wanted to have a bit of faith in –"

"Or, more likely, he was afraid of what he might find –"

"And despite know the baggage that comes with that name, he hadn't left me –"

"You know, not that anyone's going to listen, but," says Juno, less stung by Mag's accuracy, and more marvelling at how he always seems to be caught in conversations about him, while he sits right there, "I'm right here."

"Unfortunately –"

Juno cuts Mag off with relish. "So if you could stop using me to have this slap fight with each other, I'd really appreciate it."

"A _slap fight –_ " Mag takes a deep breath, and in expelling it, asks, "Who wants dessert?"

Dessert is a rich almond spice cake, doused in honey. It is reprehensibly sweet, but in a way that Juno finds himself enjoying it.

"So how'd you get that eyepatch?"

Juno groans but it goes unheard under the politest slap fight he's even been drowned out by:

"Is that really _appropriate_?" Nureyev stabs his cake.

"Well I can't help but be a little curious." Mag takes a dainty forkful of cake before pointing out, "That eyepatch is rather ostentatious."

Juno touches his eye patch, a sleek black number molded to his eye socket to rid the need for straps. "What, you don't like it? I mean, Nureyev was the one who got this for me, so you'd think –"

Mag ignores him entirely. "Oh, come now, Peter. A man like him won't be too delicate to answer such questions."

"Lady," Juno corrects.

"Lady," Nureyev affirms. "And do allow me to correct my previous enquiry – is that really _any of your business_?"

"Can't blame a _man_ for wanting to know the partner of his son –"

" _Son_ ," Nureyev repeats, tone carefully flat.

May turns to him entirely; even his body angles towards him, and his eyes attempt to pin him to the spot. "The wrong word, then. Charge, perhaps?"

"I actually got it saving the world," Juno tells his fast disappearing slice of cake. "Well maybe not the whole entire Earth, but a significant amount of it. Say, the size of Mars."

Mag allows this distraction. "Very impressive. So Peter still has a healthy respect for freedom fighters and rebels."

As does Nureyev. "Especially the ones who manage not to sacrifice thousands in their quest to save the world, that's always a plus –"

"It was an interesting case, really. Involved a chemical weapon," says Juno, very loudly, "We detonated it in an airlock. Luckily, it spread through contact transmission, or I would've been dead."

"Chemical warfare thwarted by a PI? Simply awe-inspiring."

"It _was_ ," Nureyev agrees, "Though don't worry if its complexities were lost on you. It _is_ a bit beyond your time."

Mag makes a fist in his shirt by his chest, where dark hyperpigmented scarring visible through the white fabric when it is pulled taut like that. "And whose fault is that?!"

A slap fight, Juno mourns, between the stabber and the stabbed. He puts his fork down with a loud clink against the plate, and declares, "I'm out of cake!"

Mag glowers at him. "That was the last slice."

"Then perhaps we best retire for the night." Nureyev shoots him a grateful look, then stands to gather the dishes.

"The cake was delicious," Juno tells Mag, then escapes to the kitchen with the dishes.

"If you like the cake so much," says Nureyev, stepping in front of Mag pointedly to help Juno with the dishes, "I could probably figure out the recipe."

Heedlessly, Mag takes a seat on a kitchen stool behind them. "Might you consider asking me?"

"Oh, we'd hate to trouble you. The internet is such a vast resource," Juno suggests carefully.

"The internet," Mag hisses. "Hah! As if some hipster food blogger twice removed from their homelands would know anything about the food, let alone its history, the proper, traditional methods of baking it –"

And off Mag goes, just like Juno had hoped. Sharp wit though Mag might have, he's still an old man, still has the same proclivity towards ranting. It should occupy him for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

The guest room that Mag shows him to is impeccable. The floor shines, the sheets are freshly laundered, and there is even a small tin of potpourri on the bedside table.

Juno is grudgingly flattered that Mag would trouble himself for him, or at least, to make peace with Nureyev. That is, despite the fact that he'd only taken the room because he saw the _look_ on Nureyev's face when they were retiring to bed, Nureyev's bed, but Mag had gripped his forearm and shown him to this instead.

He even sits atop the fluffy comforter, waits patiently, and makes sure that he hears the house grow silent, before abandoning the room.

 

* * *

 

"Juno! You sure took your time; I was wondering if you had gotten lost!" Nureyev smiles up at him from the floor. There's a slight crease on his forehead, leftover ire, but he seems to have calmed down.

Juno clicks his tongue. "The house isn't _that_ big. Although the guest room was real nice…" Still, he eases his creaky old bones into a sitting position on the floor. "What are you doing?"

"There is no way the two of us will fit on the bed, so I had to come up with a solution." Nureyev pats the mattress he had dragged off the bed and onto the floor. "At least this way we won't be crammed against the wall or in danger of falling off the bed."

"What if I just came here to invite you over to the big queens bed in the guest room, huh?" It's meant to be a tease but Nureyev freezes for a split second, usually animated features going oddly still.

"I. Huh. I didn't think of that, actually. That would make more sense, wouldn't it?"

Juno glances up at the glow stars.

"Relax, I was just joking." He nudges Nureyev over so that they can both sit on the mattress. It's a single, edges sloped with age, and doesn't look like it'll accommodate two grown men in any configuration. "C'mon, work your magic, show me how we're gonna fit on this thing." He'd meant to complain but it comes out too fond. Nureyev beams at him.

It's a tight squeeze and someone will probably roll off in their sleep, but they make it work. Nureyev has to lie diagonally for all of him to fit, which leaves Juno to curl up half across him.

"I'm too old for camping," Juno grumbles.

"Rest assured, your efforts will not go unrewarded." And with impossible finesse, Nureyev flips them over, holding himself up by his elbows so that their chests press together,close enough to kiss, but not quite. He grins down at him, bites his lip, even waggles his eyebrows obnoxiously. Juno has no choice but to catch his collar and pull him down the rest of the way, to stop him. With his mouth. Good going Juno Steel.

And it really is good going for a while – Nureyev gets a thigh between his and Juno is almost through with the buttons on his shirt. There's that nice, hazy pleasure where Juno can only think of the slide of Nureyev's tongue against his, Nureyev's palm hot on his side.

Then Nureyev ducks his head to nip at his neck and Juno is left gasping at the ceiling. The glow in the dark stars come into focus. He turns his head – and sees that terrible collection of bow ties. He can't help it, he snorts, and pushes Nureyev's face away when he comes up to see what's so funny.

"It's the bow ties," Juno tells him. He drags his fingers down Nureyev's neck, thumbs the hollow of his throat, feels his breath catch in his throat – then laughs in his face when he imagines one of those ties there.

Nureyev sits up, pouting. "I assure you I look quite fetching in them now too

"Yea, you said that before, but I am not resting assured, none of this is resting." He slaps at Nureyev's thighs that bracket him. "Now get off me, you goof. I'm not doing anything with you while Mag's probably lying in bed straining his ears for any wayward sound."

"Such a pity," says Nureyev, but complies, reverting them to their original positions.

Juno hums, satisfied, as he slings a leg over Nureyev's and rubs his cheek on his chest. "Good. Now go to sleep. Something tells me we'd need it for the day ahead."

 

* * *

 

Sure enough, Juno wakes up the next morning with his ass on the tiled floor. His back and hips ache – I'm old, oh god, I'm so old, despairs Juno – and it takes all his strength to drag himself to sit on the mattress. Nureyev lies on his side, still dozing, and Juno watches him, just for a while, those long lashes, the sharp teeth that peek through parted lips.

He debates his next course of action for a half second before deciding neither the washroom nor breakfast is worth leaving this room without Nureyev. Juno should let him sleep longer. He'd tried to stay awake until Nureyev fell asleep, and it was an hour at least before he gave in. The light streaming in between the curtains casts his dark eye circles in sharp relief. But the light is still cool, it must be early, so surely they could sleep in a bit longer. So instead, Juno tries to shove gently at Nureyev until he rolls onto his back, and then flops down across him.

"Juno?" comes Nureyev's sleep bleary voice.

"Ah, shucks." Juno presses his mouth to the underside of Nureyev's jaw apologetically. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Oh _no_ , love –" Nureyev squirms "– it is far too humid, do get off."

"You grew up here, you're used to the heat. Deal with it," demands Juno, who'd spent many a summer on his shitty broken air con apartment before moving in with Nureyev. Besides, the tiles were inexplicably cold, so Nureyev's sticky warmth is very welcome.

"Global warming must be stopped," Nureyev decides. But he gives in, wrapping an arm around Juno's waist.

"It's a travesty," Juno agrees. "But before this damn planet melts, I intend to make the best of it –" Juno slings a leg between Nureyev's thighs, and drags himself on top of him until he can tuck his head under his chin, wriggling until he is comfortable and snug and smug "– no regrets."

 

* * *

 

"I deeply regret this," says Juno, pulling his sweat soaked t-shirt off. 

"You did this to us." Nureyev accuses. When he runs a hand through his hair, it stays slicked back with sweat. He wrinkles his nose. "It's so hot, it must be noon. C'mon, let's go freshen up."

Mag catches them as they come out of the washroom together, because of course he does. "You two missed breakfast long ago," he tells them, eyes fixed somewhere beyond them lest he sees something he really doesn't want to. Juno is suddenly glad he didn't let Nureyev talk him into showering together. "But I've started lunch. It should be ready soon."

"Ah, my apologies. You could've woken us."

Juno watches the automatic way Nureyev falls in step behind Mag. Then he startles when Mag turns back to frown at him.

"He wasn't in the guest room." Mag clicks his tongue at Juno, before turning away again. "I didn't then to… intrude on anything."

Juno walks into the dining table, jamming his hip against its edge. Nureyev laughs at his pained grunt, but it is light and fond.

"We only slept! The long drive wore us out. Although…" Nureyev casts a hopeful glance behind him, only to have Juno shove his shoulder, face inflamed. "Joke! It was a joke! Probably. Let me help with lunch."

 

* * *

 

Lunch is also delicious but, if possible, more painful to sit through than last night's dinner. Mag has things he wants to say to Nureyev, that much is obvious, but he keeps stopping himself.He keeps glancing at Juno a second too long, a rather blatant hint for privacy. But Nureyev has caught his hand under the dining table and won't let go. He's ambidextrous and eats his lunch easily, while Juno can't spoon up rice and dal singlehandedly even with his dominant hand.

Instead of petty bickering, Juno has to stew in this cold silence, and he doesn't even get to enjoy the delicious food. Truly does Juno suffer in the name of love.  

In the end, Mag leaves them well alone. He seems content to sit about the yard, blowing large Gold Leaf smoke circles that warbled up before dissipating amongst the clouds. Tells them, the things for Nureyev are on his desk, then takes a newspaper from the stack on the tiny lawn still next to him, and spreads it out across his lap.

Mag's study is a dark wood affair. Glass is set in redwood cabinets. Desk, a large, mahogany giant. Parquet flooring. The only things that aren't a shade of brown are his black leather chair, and a large paper kite, mounted on one wall. Juno hovers at the door as Nureyev rustles through the papers on the desk with no restraint whatsoever. He crinkled his nose at each document, before peeking into a shoebox. His eyes widen with mild surprise, then holding it out for Juno.

"Oh?" The shoebox is dust dry in Juno's hands. "What about the rest?"

"A will." Juno looks up sharply, but Nureyev continues blandly, "Balance sheets of his finances. An inventory of his assets." No, not blandly, after years of knowing him, he can just pick out the distaste in Nureyev's gaze."He'd do better giving it away to charity."

"And this?" Juno gives the shoe box a tiny shake.

"Ah!" Nureyev perks up. "Of no monetary value whatsoever, but I do believe you'll get a kick out of these." He takes its lid off with a flourish.

Juno gasps.

"No. _No._ No way." Juno snatches the first photo on top of the pile, holding it up to the light. "This is Peter Nureyev? This is the master thief Peter Nureyev? Smooth, slick, sultry Peter Nureyev?"

"While this is all very flattering –" Nureyev steals the photo to inspect his younger self, the wide framed glasses that sat in front of wide, bright eyes, and atop chubby, ruddy cheeks. He wrinkles his nose disdainfully. "We all have to start somewhere."

"You were a _cupcake_ ," says Juno, in disbelief. He starts to put it on the desk to root through them, then grimaces at it. Instead, he drops right down onto the floor. Nureyev grins, and drops to the floor with him.

There are few photos of Nureyev in the end, only enough to fill a shoebox, and the box was for a pair of mojaris, so it was pretty flat as is, but they are all spectacular. And although Juno delights with every photo – little Peter and his oversized glasses, Peter with his skinned knees and muddied shoes, little Peter and there it is! A bow tie! Green with gold polka dots! – greedily soaking up every detail, he can tell that Nureyev is distracted. It'd gotten worse when he found the few, select polaroids of himself on Mag's desk, carefully framed in gold.

"Do you actually want any of these?" Juno asks, waving said photographs about.

Nureyev starts, then smiles sheepishly. "I know this is all quite exciting for you, I can only imagine myself when I find _your_ baby photos –"

"Never," Juno hisses.

"– _eventually_ , because I _will_ – but I did leave all this behind for a reason."

Right. Juno squints down at the young Peters. He tries Rita's advice, which was really a rambling summary about some Taiwanese drama, but in there somewhere was something about his emotional constipation, and the detoxifying benefits of talking things through.

"Uhh do you want," he grits out, "To talk. About it," and immediately his mind races for an excuse to take it back. Unless Nureyev does want to talk about it. In which case he could handle it, probably. Maybe even limit himself to three strained jokes.

For all of Juno's efforts, Nureyev laughs at his face, cups his jaw, and tries to smooth away his frown lines. "While I appreciate the effort –"

"Funny way of showing it." Juno tries half heartedly to bat away Nureyev's hands.

"I don't know what's left to be said."

"Well," says Juno, frowning harder against Nureyev's palm, "Want to talk to him, then?"

Nureyev doubles his efforts, squishing Juno's face between both hands. "What would I talk to him about? Juno, it's been years and we hadn't separated on the best of terms."

"I don't know, the weather, exchange business cards, give each other a Facebook update on life." Juno shrugs. "It's up to you. You don't have to."

"I don't," Nureyev agrees, "but it does feel like I should."

Juno demands, "According to who?" 

"Convention," Nureyev replies seriously, then laughs when Juno rolls his eyes.

"I'm just saying, if you two are capable of squabbling with each other, then you two can have a proper conversation." Juno pauses. "Probably."

Nureyev laughs. "You just want an excuse to be alone with these photographs, and steal the most embarrassing ones."

"I would never, how dare you, how rude," Juno replies scandalised, clutching to his chest a polaroid of red faced Peter, seven years old, mouth smeared with birthday cake frosting. He only relents when Nureyev leans in to press a kiss to his temple.

"I'll be right back."

Nureyev goes and Juno is left with his photographs.

They stop at young Peter, aged 16, already started to fill out with muscle. This is the boy who stabbed Mag. Then Juno winces to have thought that at all.

Juno knows next to nothing about Nureyev's childhood, but he knows of a railway control cabin bathed in red light, alarms blaring as two trains head towards collision. _Weapons and drugs, smugglers and_ terrorists _, Peter, you have to understand, we cannot let them ruin this country_ . And now, he can imagine what Nureyev had looked like, _but the refugees in the train, and the villages by the tracks, Mag_ , knife in hand, _don't walk away from me_! He doesn't know Nureyev's childhood, but he knows how it ends, and that's what's important.

Juno sits back against the desk and stares up at the kite instead. Memorabilia. Staged, perhaps? To portray Mag as the very picture of an old man near death, trying to make amends with his _son_. But no, the kite is sun-bleached except for a seam of brighter blue near the cabinet. It'd been there for a while. Juno considers this, but doesn't feel much beyond wondering whether Nureyev still knows how to fly it.

But this is no time for detective work. Juno stands and dusts off his knees. He doesn't quite know what to expect when Nureyev is back from his talk, but it'd be best if Juno hide the box of photographs in his bag before that.

 

* * *

 

When Nureyev fetches him for their dinner, he seems... more settled. Dinner goes better. There is conversation Juno would really rather not happen at the dinner table – adjustments to the will, dissemination of assets to which charities, _funeral rites_ – and snipes and barbs are aplenty. Nureyev is settled enough that he is professional once more, this time employing his master thief skills to procure impressive donations for orphanages and pro-immigrant nonprofits, though Mag smiles less, and has a quiet sort of resignation as his peace offering is allocated everywhere except to his designated next-of-kin.

Whatever Nureyev had come here for, he seems to have found it. And that's good enough for Juno.

He is also relieved their last meal ends quietly. Back in Nureyev's old bedroom for the last night, Juno is reluctant to break the calm, but, "We all ready to head home?" seems innocuous enough.

"I do think so." Nureyev tugs Juno down onto the mattress, sitting such that he can press against his side, and rest his head on his shoulder. "And it's all thanks to you, Juno."

"Eh?" Juno furrows his brow.

"Do you remember what you told me on the first day? That I only had to make peace with myself, if not with him? I think I've done just that." Nureyev hums thoughtfully. "Perhaps _only_ that."

"The guy lied to you for half your life," Juno says, waving his hand about the room. "It's not like you owe him any more than this."

"Nevertheless," says Nureyev, with measured disdain, "he did raise me."

"Doesn't make what he did right." Juno pauses, then adds belatedly, "Also, he tried to derail a train full of passengers, and massacre several villages in the crash for good measure."

Nureyev sighs. "Mm. I suppose."

They sit hushed for a moment. Juno eyeballs the bow ties, and considers stealing one before they leave. Before he can decide, Nureyev perks.

"Just one more thing!" Nureyev tugs at him again, this time so that Juno is in his lap, straddling him. Juno tenses, suspicious, and Nureyev does not disappoint: "Juno darling, if I might ask – why don't you ever call me Peter?"

Warily, Juno leans back against the arms around his waist, testing. Nureyev has him held fast. "What's this, suddenly?"

"Ah, I asked Mag why he was so against you from the start – you called me Nureyev in front of him, which was quite careless according to him. Peter is one thing, but a Nureyev who looks like me –" he gestures to himself, dark skin, light eyes, "– is quite rare indeed. He felt it rather foolish, considering what Peter Nureyev is linked to in this country."

"Oh. Huh. That's a good point, actually." Juno has his hands on Nureyev's shoulders to push away, but this makes him falter. He loops his arms loosely Nureyev's neck instead.

"So?" Nureyev raises an eyebrow in an unfairly sensual manner. "Will you start calling me Peter?"

"Well, uhh, rather not, not right now anyway, so much just happened, won't want to rock the boat too much –" This is too close to the truth, and Juno panics. He snaps instead, "Hey, we never had a problem before! Why change things now?"

"Oh. Of course, Juno." Nureyev looks up at him, eyes bright. "You just survive meeting the in-law, so to speak, albeit quite the twisted one. I won't push."

"I – huh." Juno looks surprised, then guarded for a split second, before he melts in Nureyev's arms, gently knocking their foreheads together. "Thanks, I guess, you're, uhh, good to me too."

"Oh, _Juno_." The way Nureyev says his name has him shivering. A fact that does not go unnoticed. He smiles, lower lip caught between his teeth, glowing and luminous and all those other terrible words that Juno can't stop thinking of, so he dips his head to stop it.

The way that Nureyev touches him is strange. He is careful and his hands are reverent in a way they haven't been since that tender month after they'd reconciled from that one time Juno tried to break up with him. It feels… more than good. Slow heat trailing along every touch. Has him moaning and pressing into it. But Juno doesn't like that it feels like he's about to leave again.

"Peter," says Juno, wanting to distract him. He doesn't expect that name, sliding off his tongue in a gasp, to leave him flustered. Nureyev too hiccups suddenly, flushes dark red along his cheeks and the tips of his ears. " _Peter_ ," says Juno again, just to watch that flush travel down Nureyev's neck, " _please_."

 

* * *

 

They end up leaving with little fanfare, which is good, because Juno can't quite look Mag in the eye after last night.

Mag stands outside of the gate and watches as they leave. Juno watches Mag shrink in the side mirror.

"We ever coming back here?" he asks, offhanded. When Nureyev is silent for such a long moment, Juno turns away from Mag's tiny figure in the mirror to look at him properly. Nureyev is paying far more attention to an open dirt road than is required.

"I… don't think so. Don't think too badly of me, Juno." He laughs. It sounds just a touch too delicate. If Nureyev thinks Juno was in any position to judge him…

"Hey, did I ever tell you what happened to my brother?"

Nureyev looks over in surprise. "Not… entirely."

Not at all, is more likely. No doubt Nureyev knows the facts of his childhood, but Juno only remembers dodging questions and getting defensive himself.

Juno thinks of his younger brother. He thinks of his mother who is perhaps dead but most probably still in prison, and how he might never know because he hadn't informed the prison of his change of address when he moved out of their house two decades ago. He thinks of how he's never managed to move more than an hour's drive away from the old city he lived in.

There's that saying about misery loves company, and he does lo – feel that way – about Nureyev so perhaps he could be a bit more forthcoming.

Finally, Juno says, "I'll tell you when we get back."

"I would like that." From the sound of Nureyev's voice, Juno would guess that Nureyev would've jumped him already, if he weren't driving. As it is, Nureyev puts a hand on his thigh, and squeezes.

"Hey, don't get too excited," Juno grouses, but puts his hand on top of Nureyev's hand grudgingly. "It isn't that great of a story."

He would tell him the story of his brother then, of his mother, and of his childhood – after they returned to their apartment, where the bed is the big enough for two, and its sheets smell of the both of them, and during meals, Juno would sit with his rice bowl and chopsticks and laugh as Nureyev tries to pick up slippery pieces of curried chicken with his – "Hey, let's go buy some paint when we get back."

"Paint?" Nureyev asks, surprised.

"Yeah. Black. Maybe dark blue and purple. And some glow in the dark stars. We'll make you a new North Star back home." Juno pauses, Nureyev is quiet, Juno keeps talking because suddenly, he is embarrassed of his juvenile suggestion. "No? Is that too uncool now that we're geezers? Or is it that you're bad at art – don't lie to me, I've seen your doodles. I can paint it for you, or ask Rita, she probably knows someone."

Juno is still babbling when Nureyev pulls over without a word, so he is confused when Nureyev cups the back of his head and leads him into a kiss. But he goes willingly, tilts his head so that their mouths slant together.

When he pulls back, panting slightly, Juno has to ask, "What was that for?"

"What for–! You're a gift, Juno!" Nureyev throws his head back in a laugh, achingly fond. "I'll tell you when we get home. And honestly, I cannot wait to get home."

Juno sits back as Nureyev starts the car again. "Yea, me too. Let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> i had Things to say abt family and the fairness of denying forgiveness, but it might've been lost haha. tumblr [here](http://izazaa.tumblr.com/post/160409223096/over-tea-and-cakes-izazaa-crazyground-the).


End file.
